


Dream

by musiclvr1112



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged Up, BDSM, Blindfolds, Dom/sub, Dream Sex, Edging, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hand Job, NSFW, Pegging, Submission, Teasing, Torture, Voyeurism, badly timed fantasies, dom queen bee, dream - Freeform, ignores season 2, rope, strap on, sub Nath, very nsfw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-05-10 03:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14729279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclvr1112/pseuds/musiclvr1112
Summary: After staying up late to work on a commission of Paris's heroes, Nathaniel's dream is visited by a seductive, merciless queen.





	1. The Painting

**Author's Note:**

> This is NSFW. This is porn. This is literally shameless porn. If you are not comfortable reading explicit sexual content, do not read this fic.  
> Also, very very much dom/sub play.  
> You have been warned.

It was a dream.

But it was a dream that he would never forget. One that couldn’t slip from his memory even if he wanted it to and wow he would be lying if he ever said he wanted it to.

He didn’t know he’d had a crush on the super heroine until that night. In fact, he hadn’t paid her much attention before that. But that was the first night in a very long time that he had _really_ sketched her, staying up well into the night to set her visage upon a canvas standing alongside her teammates.

And Nathaniel had never been able to keep himself separate from his art.

Years had passed since the first appearance of Queen Bee in Paris. Just like he had with all superheroes, Nathaniel had experienced a small, passing infatuation with her at first. He had sketched her a few times—on her own and with the whole group, posing and in action—but he had soon moved on to other subjects, just as he had done with Rena Rouge before her, Chat Noir before her, and Ladybug before him.

There wasn’t a single point in time that the artist would have claimed not to find Queen Bee attractive, even setting aside the rose-tinted goggles he had for superheroes. Her long blonde hair was almost princess-like in its perfection, her figure was strong and curvy in alluring ways—especially with nothing hidden beneath the form fitting costume—and her eyes were...well, he really was a sucker for blue.

But his attraction to her was really nothing more than that—just the far removed sort of admiration that everyone experienced towards famous figures. He didn’t think much of it—he didn’t think much of _her_.

Not until that night. Not until the dream.

That night he had been commissioned by an upcoming hero appreciation banquet to create a portrait of all five heroes standing together with the Paris landscape behind them. It was a big project and he was honored to have it. So naturally, he was pouring everything he had into making it a great piece of work.

But as always, giving it everything he had meant giving it his heart.

So he fell in love with the heroes again one by one as he set them upon the canvas. He started with Rena Rouge on the far left, spending the most time on her clever smirk—making sure her lips curled _just so_ in that sexy, confident, and all-knowing sort of way they did. Then came Carapace, who could always be found at her side. Nathaniel made sure to bring his wide, gleaming grin to life, remembering the way the green hero always laughed in interviews. In the center was Ladybug, team leader and fan favorite. He made sure her eyes had that perfect shade of deep blue as they shone with daring and intelligence, the kind that reflected her calculated and dedicated nature as a hero. At her side, of course, was Chat Noir, who the artist had probably drawn the most often out of all of them. He was given a strong power stance, but an approachable, confident expression; he was the kind of hero that people knew could destroy them (literally) with a single touch, but never would, letting them feel safe and secure under his protection. And lastly, Queen Bee.

Unlike the others, he put her in a three-quarter turn. Queen Bee was perhaps most famous for _not_ being famous. Or rather, for shying away from fame. Of all the heroes, she was the least likely to stay after a battle for a press conference, and the most quiet when civilians were around. It had been different in the beginning, when she’d first appeared. She had seemed just as accepting of the fame back then as Chat Noir. But she very quickly seemed to tire of it, sometime after she had officially met the mayor. Still, she wasn’t a recluse, and she did love the citizens of Paris just as much as the others. So, with her face still fully facing front, her body was angled slightly toward Chat Noir, with her elbow propped up on his shoulder, as everyone knew they had the most buddy-buddy relationship among the heroes.

Nathaniel loved carrying her long ponytail on the wind out behind her, and shaping the taut form of her legs, her waist, her arms, etc. But the part that assured her a place in his dreams that night wasn’t any of that clear sex appeal. It was her expression—her _eyes_. Those sharp blue orbs stared daggers up at him from the canvas, menacing and dangerous and just _daring_ him to try to harm anyone she cared about. “Go ahead. See what happens. See if you’re still alive afterwards.” Because as everyone knew, even if she might seem to have some disinterest in public relations, Queen Bee was the most absolutely ruthless of all the heroes when it came to protecting her people. She was Queen, and the people of Paris were _hers_ ; absolutely nothing would take them from her.

At first, her lips were the only ones that Nathaniel hadn’t sketched into any semblance of a smile. After all, the menacing glare was what citizens were most used to seeing from her, since she mostly appeared during battles. But later on in his process, the artist reconsidered. He only erased the very edge of her mouth, tilting it upwards just the slightest bit. Still glaring. Still menacing. But with just a small hint of a smile, because this was a banquet for her people, and she loved her people.

That was the kind of person Nathaniel saw the heroine to be. The kind who was cold and distant, fierce and dangerous, maybe even unapproachable. But at her core, golden. Warm, caring, and probably even gentle towards those who deserved it.

That was who he respected. That was who he painted.

It was all speculation, of course. All his own imagination filling in details about a person he didn’t know for the sake of bringing her to life in his artwork. Nevertheless, it worked.

The woman on the canvas when he was done was breathtaking.

The artist had crashed down onto his bed contentedly at the end of the night, feeling confident in the work he had accomplished. He would be putting more detail on the piece the next day, really fleshing it out, but the groundwork he had put down was strong, engaged, and immersed. It would be one of his best pieces by the time it was done. With that thought in his head, he rest at ease.

Little did he know that Queen Bee would appear at his window that very night, interrupting his sleep. It was the height of summer, and in an effort to keep cool, Nathaniel had left his window wide open, letting the breeze cool him in his bed. His apartment was on the third floor, so he was generally pretty safe from any intruders. Of course, normally, his intruders didn’t have wings.

Bright light from a full moon flooded in when his heavy lids blinked open, bathing the edges of her silhouette in a heavenly glow. At first, she was merely perched there on the windowsill by the foot of his bed, alluring figure coated completely in darkness. Then those eyes—those brilliant, iridescent, piercing blue eyes—fell on him. His breath caught in his throat.

She stepped into the room and Nathaniel propped himself up on his elbows. “Queen Bee?” he asked, but she said nothing, only watching him intently with those hypnotic eyes as she approached. He felt the bed shift under the weight of her knee. “I-Is something—um—,” he paused to swallow nervously, “wrong?” She crawled toward him on hands and knees, slowly, seductively, and predatorily, like a lioness coming upon her prey.

His heart pounded in his chest, each thump shaking his entire frame. She was ever silent, and mostly shrouded in the cover of night. Light shone off the edges of her body, accentuating the sway of her perfect hips and the waterfall of her long hair cascading down from her ponytail, over her shoulders, and dragging over his legs. He shivered at that small bit of contact, the light graze on his skin sending chills straight through him.

He rose so that he was propped all the way up on his hands, ready to meet her as she came close, but a single gloved hand lifted to his bare chest as he did. The cool material of her costume gently but firmly pressed him back until he was lying all the way down. She hovered over him, electric eyes setting his insides on fire in anticipation as she merely watched him, fingers gliding across his collarbone.

“Queen Bee?” he whispered, voice trembling. Her hand rose then, index finger moving to very softly cover his lips. He breathed in deep and nodded his understanding, absolutely at the mercy of her enticing gaze.

The moonlight just barely caught the curvature of a smile on her glossy lips.

Her fingers glided over his skin, caressing his cheek, and her thumb dragged across his bottom lip. He kissed it, wishing beyond belief to have it replaced with her own lips. She dragged her thumb further down, over his chin, neck, and settling down on his chest again as she sat back. He sucked in a deep breath as her soft form settled over his hips. The inside of her thighs was warm, and he immediately hardened underneath her. He was sure she could feel it with only the thin layer of his boxers covering him.

She smoothed both of her hands down his sides, thumbs gliding over the soft contours of his chest and abs. Then, with a gentle grasp on his waist, she tentatively rocked her hips. He twitched against her, erection growing at the movement, and bit back a groan. She kept going, rocking at the most easy of paces, like a boat on calm waters. He breathed deep and slow, each and every sway seducing him further down into lust’s hold.

He caressed the smooth, cool fabric of her costume as he slid his palms over her thighs, coming up to wrap his fingers around her hips in the hopes of guiding her movements. She moved with him at first, letting him take his pleasure in grinding himself against her, and he leaned his head back with a quiet sigh. Meanwhile, her fingers traced their way back up his torso, to his shoulders, and then meandered down the lengths of his arms until they gently wrapped around his hands. He opened his eyes to look at her again as she removed his hands from her body. She held his gaze as she leaned forward, pressing his hands into the mattress and sliding them up above his head. His breathing labored, he watched her, mesmerized by those powerful blue eyes. She lifted his hands up to the bars of his headboard, gently guiding his fingers around them. He followed the wordless orders, taking hold of the bars, and she squeezed his hands there—a silent but clear instruction to keep them in place. He nodded, breathless.

Then she grazed the tips of her fingers down his arms and he gasped, the touch setting his nerves ablaze. She went back to her slow, tantalizing rocking, rubbing herself along his length, and somehow it was even worse this time—even more torturous.

She let her left hand settle at his collarbone while her right came to rest beside his head, supporting her weight as she leaned down toward him. Nathaniel lifted his chin, so ready and willing to receive her kiss it was almost unbearable. The closer she came, the closer her hand also came to his neck, until finally her lips were mere centimeters from his and her fingers—hold firm but still gentle—around his throat. And there she stayed, merely observing him, watching the way he breathed in deep as her fingers tightened the slightest bit—not enough to obstruct his breathing, but surely enough to put him at her complete and utter mercy. He watched her too, curious and waiting on her every move. Analyzing those seductive blue eyes, trying to anticipate what she would do with him, stealing glances at her perfect lips—her lips which he _so_ wanted on him in whatever way she would grant. He bit his own lip as the thought.

Her grip tightened again, bringing his eyes back up to hers. They were coming closer— _she_ was coming closer. Those very same eyes were half-lidded a moment later, her lips parted. Nathaniel opened his mouth to meet her.

 _Wow_.

The queen’s kiss was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Her lips were glossy and tasted like strawberry, and so _so_ soft as they moved with his. Her kiss was slow, seductive, _intoxicating,_ and with the added thrill of her fingers around his neck, _intense._ Her tongue tentatively came out to greet his and they melted together, that simple touch feeling like the remedy to every pain he’d ever had. She sank into him then, rolling the entirety of her body against him and kissing him without restrain. He moaned into her mouth as her body moved against his, her movements driving him absolutely insane in the best of ways.

She moved her hand from his neck, moving it around to the back of his head and threading her fingers through his hair. Nathaniel gasped as she took a fistful of his hair, slowly tightening her grip until his head was forced back, breaking their kiss. His head was floating in a sea of pure dopamine and he was hardly able to catch his breath. So he lay there, curious and wanting and ready to obey whatever demands she might make of him just to have her touch him more.

Queen Bee sat up then, and his body mourned the loss of her heat on his skin. She slipped her hand free from his hair as she shifted down, moving so that she straddled his legs rather than his hips. Gloved hands traversed the length of his torso, and he shivered as her fingertips grazed the sensitive flesh of his lower stomach, approaching dangerous territory that he _so_ wanted her to trespass. He watched as she hooked her fingers under the waistband of his boxers. He bit his lip both in anticipation and to silence himself from any whimpers or moans that sat on his tongue. Those devastating eyes fell on him again as she moved to pull the clothing down and he acquiesced, lifting his hips in the air.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he was freed from the restraint of clothing. Queen Bee sat back and let her hands simply caress the edges of his hips and waist as she quietly observed him, her thumbs tracing lines over his hips. His chest rose and fell with the labor of breathing as he waited, just watching her, wondering what she would do.

Finally, her hands moved further inwards. She laid her right palm flat against his lower stomach, as if to hold him down, while the fingers of her left drew delicate lines along his length. Nathaniel’s breaths became shallow and shaky as gloved fingertips danced along his sensitive skin, teasing, tantalizing, torturing. Her thumb moved from the base all the way to the tip and back down again, slowly, ever so slowly. Her index finger traced along the edge of the head. A slight graze of the tip.

He couldn’t possibly say how much time passed. It could have been seconds it could have been hours. But Nathaniel restrained himself, keeping his hands where she had put them, even as he squirmed and whimpered and sighed underneath her. She held him in place all the while with the gentle but firm placement of her palm keeping him pressed into the bed.

Nathaniel’s whimpers eventually grew into tortured cries of pleasure and frustration. She had him on the absolute edge, toeing the line between ultimate ecstasy and upmost agony. He could feel a madness creeping into his mind as she continued her delicate, evil touches. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep going like that. What he would even do. Would he use his hands to stop her? Did he want to stop her?

Queen Bee’s movements paused and he was all at once flooded with relief and sorrow. His muscles all relaxed and he realized that every single one had slowly tensed up over the span of the torture. He lay there, breathing quick and heavy, heart racing, and realized he was drenched with sweat. His head felt fuzzy as he gazed up at Queen Bee, wondering what she was going to do. Did she want to leave? He really _really_ didn’t want her to leave.

Then her left hand picked up movement again. Only this time it wasn’t tiny, teasing touches. Her fingers wrapped around him and pumped the full length, thumb darting out over the tip with each stroke. Nathaniel’s head fell back into his pillow and he groaned in pleasure and relief at the sensation. With all that buildup he wasn’t going to take long. Her hand was a dream, an absolute dream as it caressed him, quickly working him towards the release that he so craved.

She leaned forward, placing her right hand next to his head on the bed and stared down at him as she pumped. Those intoxicating blue eyes watched him in wonder, fascination, and…power. Then she leaned down, ever so gently pressing her lips into his.

That was it. That touch of the lips was what it took to push him over the edge.

Nathaniel’s eyes opened to sunlight cascading in through his open window. He felt sticky.

_Fuck._

It was a dream.


	2. Of A Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The painting is done, but is Nathaniel done dreaming about Queen Bee? (Hint: no)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: This chapter features even heavier dom/sub play, this time involving "pet" and a strap-on.

Nathaniel grit his teeth and clamped his mouth shut, muffling the strangled scream of intense pleasure that escaped from his lungs as she finally pushed the strap-on all the way into him.

“Does that feel good, my cute little artist?” She pulled out half way before smoothly pushing into him again. He couldn’t possibly pull together enough semblance of thought to verbally answer her, but her giggle indicated that she was pleased enough by the stream of murmured moans and whimpers steadily dripping from his lips. The next thrust hit _just right,_ and he found himself automatically tightening his legs around her hips. “Now now, keep your legs parted for me,” she cooed, propping herself up with her hands on his knees, pushing them wide open.

The position allowed the next thrust to reach deep _deep_ inside him. Nathaniel gasped, arms pulling taught against the ropes tying him to the bed and body tensing at the sensation. She paused right there, letting him quiver and shift as he soaked in the sensation of having every last bit of the dildo nestled deep in his body.

He let out his breath in shallow, broken huffs, tiny vocalized cries of a pleasure he had never before known (but had always wondered about) slipping out with them. He so wished he could see her in that moment, that there wasn’t a blindfold obscuring his vision. Not for the sake of knowing who she was. Just to be able to know what sort of expression Queen Bee wore as she pegged her obedient and absolutely beewitched sub. To know whether she was the dom with the gentle smile or the wicked one. Whether those gorgeous blue eyes shone with excitement, adoration, malice, or some combination of the three.

“Please,” he whimpered, “keep going.”

“I’m sorry, pet, but it’s time for you to get up.”

“What?”

Nathaniel jolted awake, the blaring of his alarm scaring the absolute shit out of him. It wasn’t the pleasant, easy song that he had set as his main alarm, nor was it the loud rock song set as his secondary alarm. It was the screamo metal song that told him he was running 20 minutes late.

Blissful silence rushed in as his shaky fingers finally managed to set off the alarm on his phone. He fell back into his pillow, still breathless and heart racing from a mixture of sexual arousal and adrenaline. He looked down to see a tent covering his hips.

_Fuck._

* * *

Nathaniel rushed through the doors of Le Grand Paris with his painting tucked protectively under his arm and hair still dripping wet from his shower. He slowed his pace as he made his way to the conference room and spared a glance at the clock on the wall. He immediately let out a huge sigh of relief. Two minutes to spare.

That relief completely dissipated the second he caught sight of the woman standing at the far end of the room engaged in what looked like an important conversation with one of the caterers. From that angle, all he could see was her long blonde hair falling pin strait down her back from the tight ponytail at the top of her head and the way her form-fitting suit showed off her…assets. In any other context, definitely a sight to behold, but the artist knew far better.

The person she was talking to looked up at him and he gulped as the woman turned, icy blue eyes just as menacing as he remembered as they fell on him.

Chloé Bourgeois.

Her deadly approach was punctuated by the clicking of powerful black stilettos that could probably straight up murder him if she stepped on him.

He made a mental note not to let her walk all over him like she used to.

“You have the painting?” she asked before she had even reached him. Cutting straight to the point. Okay, he could definitely work with that. Anything to be spared sharing more than a few words with his school bully. Even though he knew it was a distinct possibility, he had been hoping beyond hope that she wouldn’t be there and that he would be dealing with her much more amicable father. No such luck, but at least she seemed dedicated to keeping it clean and professional.

“Yeah, right here,” he said. He began lifting the large, cumbersome canvas to show her the precious fruits of his labor, but he didn’t get the chance.

“Good, bring it over here,” she said, beckoning him with a wave of the hand as she turned and stalked off. Classic Chloé Bourgeois.

He set his pride aside—getting off to a good start, clearly—and followed her anyway, eventually setting the painting up on the wall she motioned him to, already set up with perfectly positioned hooks. Finally taking his hands off of it felt like sending off a child to their first day at school. His work was done. Time for his creation to shine on its own.

When he turned back he caught sight of Chloé scrutinizing the painting with an unreadable expression. He could tell she was paying great attention to the details of it, but whether or not she liked it was an utter mystery.

“Well?” he asked.

He may as well have been talking to a brick wall for all the reaction she gave him. She simply stood there for moments on end, staring at his work and making him grow more and more self-conscious by the second.

“Acceptable,” she finally said, and looked down at the clipboard in her hand.

Acceptable? From Chloé Bourgeois? He supposed that was probably the best compliment he could possibly receive from her.

“Here is the second half of your payment,” she said as she held out an envelope toward him without looking up. “I assume you received the initial payment last month?”

He nodded as he took the envelope, but then uttered a small ‘yes’ as he realized she still wasn’t looking at him.

“Wonderful,” she said, checking off some items on what he assumed was a to-do list. “While you are not required to come tonight, it is recommended as some of our patrons will likely have questions for the artist. If you do come—” that was the only moment in which she actually looked at him, and it was to sweep a quick glance over his wet hair, t-shirt and jeans, “—make sure you’re dressed for a formal black tie event.”

Nathaniel gulped nervously. While the comment was obnoxious, her tone indicated that she was absolutely _not_ in the mood to humor any off-putting behavior. He nodded.

She looked at her clipboard again. “Thank you for accepting the commission on such short notice. You’re free to go.”

And with that she walked away.

Was that…a sincere expression of gratitude from Chloé Bourgeois?

* * *

_“Splendid work.”_

_“Wow, they look so real!”_

_“Is Chat Noir really that much taller than Ladybug?”_

_“Carapace’s smile is so perfect.”_

_“Yeah, but look at Rena Rouge’s smirk!”_

 

“It’s beautiful.”

When Nathaniel turned to address whoever was standing near his painting now, he sputtered and choked on the sip of water he was taking.

“Q-Queen Bee!”

Her lips curled into the smallest of smirks as she watched him struggle to cough out her name. He thought he might die from the sight alone. To see her smirk in his painting was one thing. In a dream, another. But in actual real life standing right in front of him admiring a painting he did of _her?_

“H-Hi um, I-I th- I’m—,”

Something else entirely.

“You’re Nathaniel Kurtzberg,” she finished for him, offering her hand, “the artist.” He gaped for a second before taking her hand and shaking it, admiring the firmness of her grip under the smooth fabric of her costume.

_The cool material of her costume gently but firmly pressed him back until he was lying all the way down—_

“Y-Yes, I am,” he stammered out, trying in vain to ignore the images playing out in his memory. She smiled then, a real smile with teeth and everything, making those bright blue eyes practically glow.

_—electric eyes setting his insides on fire in anticipation as she merely watched him, fingers gliding—_

“You did a lovely job,” she said, turning her attention back to the painting. “I have to admit. I don’t think I’ve ever liked a painting of myself as much as I like this one.”

He laughed nervously, the compliment tying his innards in knots. “High praise coming from someone so famous.”

She giggled, and the sound seemed to be more to herself than to him.

_—her giggle indicated that she was pleased enough by the stream of murmured moans and whimpers—_

“May I ask why you painted me smiling?”

— _the curvature of a smile on her glossy lips—_

He cleared his throat, hoping it might help clear his head. It didn’t. “Should I not have?”

She shrugged. “Most artists just don’t. Why did you?” Those devastating blue eyes fell on him again and he had to actively force himself not to think about the way they burned into him in his dreams— _absolutely at the mercy of her enticing gaze_ —and inevitably failed.

He scratched the back of his head nervously, trying really hard to focus on her question. “W-Well honestly, I didn’t have you smiling in the initial sketch. Most news footage of you shows you with a pretty serious expression.” Her expression softened, looking almost sad as she listened to his explanation. “But I guess I…I thought that wasn’t the real you.” Her eyes widened the slightest bit in surprise and suddenly he felt very wrong for assuming anything about the woman. “Th-That’s not to say that I know the real you, o-or that the serious expression isn’t you!” he quickly rushed to explain. “B-But I just thought that for, um, f-for the sake of this painting, I thought…”

He trailed off as he realized she was laughing, the laugh completely sweet and genuine and bubbly like the champagne she was holding and so very incredibly _breathtaking._ He didn’t even realize he had stopped speaking to just admire her until she spoke.

“Don’t worry,” she said, still smiling. “I like it. Thank you.” She took a sip of champagne and gazed up at the painting one last time while Nathaniel just stared at her, a hopeless, blushing mess. “I look forward to seeing more of your work in the future.”

And with that she walked away.

* * *

That night, when Queen Bee crawled in through his window, he was the one to move toward her, scooping his hands up under her jaw and pulling her into the most passionate kiss he’d ever dreamt.


	3. Unseen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bang bang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: This chapter contains minor themes of voyeurism/exhibitionism

Would anyone in Paris would be awake and walking through the streets at 1 in the morning? And of those people, would any of them look up at a certain apartment window to see the lovely backside of a naked woman pressed up against the glass?

Would those people envy him? He who held the thighs of that beautiful woman and relentlessly thrusted into her as she moaned in his ear? Or would he envy them? Those who could see her?

Queen Bee’s nails grazed his scalp as she gripped a fistful of his hair. Earlier that night he had made it his mission to make her moan the way she always did him. Now he took his pleasure in her form, knowing she had already reached climax twice and that a wide range of lovely sounds could escape from her lungs as well. From high pitched gasps to the lowest of groans, he had coaxed every sweet sound from his queen that he could.

He just wished he could have seen what amazing expressions went with them.

“Bee, please,” he sighed between breaths. “I want…to see you.”

She scooped his face up in her hands then, and pulled him into a deep, seductive kiss. Her tongue pressed against his in fervent passion, lips moving in perfect rhythm as her hands ran a path along his jaw, up the back of his neck, to the knot holding the blindfold over his eyes.

The cloth fell loose.

Nathaniel opened his eyes.

And found early morning rays dancing across the ceiling of his painfully empty bedroom.

* * *

The sun had just begun to set when Nathaniel’s shift got off. He sighed contently as he exited the coffee shop and stepped out into the warm summer air. The days when he could walk home in just a t-shirt and jeans and bask in the hazy orange glow over the Paris skyline were his favorites. They promised a long night of inspired artwork followed by the inevitable collapse of exhaustion in his bed.

And as of late, certain dreams.

The artist grazed the inside of his cheek with his teeth as he thought about the recent issue of his Queen Bee dreams. Last night’s dream had been the second one of the week, the ninth since they started a month ago. Or was it the tenth?

Oh good. He was losing count.

He audibly groaned, dropping his head in shame as he waited at the crosswalk. He couldn’t believe he was having frequent pornographic dreams about one of Paris’s heroes—one that he very much admired and _respected_ for that matter. It seemed like the kind of thing he really ought to be able to get under control; it wasn’t like he was _actively pursuing_ these sexual fantasies!

…

Well, okay. He probably wasn’t exactly _stopping_ them by painting Queen Bee as often as he did. But he couldn’t help it! He had always been a firm believer in following wherever inspiration took him and the yellow-and-black-clad heroine just _really_ inspired him. Like, _a lot._

_…I’m terrible._

Even after thinking all of this, he was probably still going to go home and make yet another portrait of the queen to add to his ever-growing collection. At least there were enough people interested in buying superhero art that his recent focus wasn’t hurting business. If anything, it was—

The sound of breaking glass drew his attention up ahead on the road. Everyone around him dropped what they were doing to stop and stare as a figure emerged from a shattered window, cackling maniacally as the shop’s alarm sounded behind them. The person had entirely green skin, and wore an outfit that Nathaniel thought resembled the man on the Monopoly board game. Fitting for the theme, the building they’d just left damaged behind them was a bank.

Akuma.

Not a second later, everything was thrown into chaos. People ran screaming in every direction and tires screeched as drivers slammed on their accelerators. The Monopoly villain only laughed louder amidst the chaos, and slowly began a relaxed stroll down the street. In their left hand they held a large bag that looked to be filled with coins, and in their right they twirled a cane. As they came up on the next shop, however, they tucked the cane under their arm and reached into the bag to pull out what looked like a gold coin. Then, whistling an innocent tune, they flicked the coin at the next shop’s window.

It exploded.

People screamed and Nathaniel stumbled as the shock from the hit rolled under his feet. The Monopoly villain, however, continued their walk and got out another coin. They flicked it at the shop across the street.

Another explosion.

Anyone who was still on their feet ran away as fast as they could. Nathaniel, however—being the idiot that he was—ran straight toward the akuma, because—

“Wait! That’s my—!”

Just as he lunged for the Monopoly villain’s legs, the next coin went flying straight for Nathaniel’s art studio.

_BANG._

And everything went black.


	4. Glowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: This chapter contains more dom/sub play with the name "pet" and it has higher exhibitionist themes.

_“Nathaniel?”_

The artist opened groggy eyes to the most pleasant of sights. Outlined in the warm glow of late sunset, Queen Bee hovered over him, blue eyes radiant as they watched him.

She smiled as he blinked, slowly waking up. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

Nathaniel smiled, brain still feeling fuzzy. “Prince Phillip, is that you?”

Her gloved hand caressed his cheek. “Is that your way of asking for a kiss?”

His lips were already brushing against hers as he whispered, “maybe.”

The Queen’s kiss was so different from how it always had been before. Other times had always been heated, passionate, electrically charged. But this was soft, gentle. It even felt _loving._

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nathaniel registered that the warm summer air and the cool breeze and the concrete under his back meant that he was definitely not in his bed at home, but in that moment all he could focus on was _her._ He lifted a hand to clasp behind her head as he opened his mouth.

A single taste of her tongue was all it took for the kiss to go from innocent to very much not so. From where she sat at his side, it was easy for him to snake his other hand up the inside of her thigh. She sighed into his lips as he cupped his hand around her, groping her through her suit. The material was surprisingly soft and giving for something she wore into battle, and soon enough he had found her clit through the fabric.

She moaned into his mouth as he rubbed his fingers against her. Then she parted from his lips and breathed heavy, still hovering mere centimeters over him. “You know we’re on top of a building, right?”

“I gathered,” he whispered, taking in as much of her expression as he could. It was a rare opportunity to see the woman in even this much daylight, and if he wasn’t going to be able to see her bare pleasured face any time soon, he was sure as hell going to memorize it with the mask as much as he could.

Those blue eyes burned into him and a sly smile poked through her parted lips. “First the window and now this? You’ve got quite the exhibitionist streak, don’t you?”

“I don’t see you complaining.” He pressed a single finger against her now swollen clit and her coy expression made way to a pleasured cry.

She crashed down on him then, stealing his lips again with hers. One gloved hand tugged his hair, dragging a deep-seated moan out of him, while the other slid down the length of his chest. She hooked a finger under his waist band and brought it around to the front. Just the feeling of her grazing the skin of his lower waist had him sucking in a deep breath. Her wicked smile interrupted their kiss.

“You want something, pet?” she asked in that sweet, seductive, _torturous_ mistress voice of hers. Her fingers idly danced about his belt buckle.

“Yes, please,” he whispered. He pressed his fingers into her clit again and this time when she moaned, it was in that deep, composed way she did when she was in fully in charge. She took his hair in a strong grip and he cried in pain and pleasure as she forced his head to the side.

“Ah!” He tensed in excitement as she gently nipped his ear. Then her soft, sultry voice melted over him.

“You know what I want?” she whispered.

“What?”

“I want you to wake up.”

A moment later, Nathaniel was groaning in frustration as he opened his eyes to an empty twilight.

He heard a rustling to his side. “Nathaniel? You awake?” He blinked tired eyes at the figure to his left. Even in the strange dulling effect that this time of night had on colors, the stunning yellow and black of her suit still shone with vibrant fury. She sat with her ankles crossed and knees drawn up toward her, elbows resting over the top. He assumed she had just been watching the sunset while he slept. Now, however, those gorgeous blue eyes stared straight at him.

“Q-Queen Bee?” he stuttered, sitting up straight. _Ow._ He immediately swayed the slightest bit, his head feeling light and disoriented.

“Take it easy,” she said. “You got knocked out by the akuma earlier.”

“Akuma?” Then he gasped, his thoughts finally coming together. “The monopoly villain! My studio! What happened to my art studio?”

Queen Bee opened her mouth to respond, but hesitated. He felt the color drain from his face. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Your art studio is all in one piece thanks to Ladybug’s cure,” she said. Then there was a pause.

“But?”

She pressed her lips together as she stared at him with eyes that spoke apologies he wasn’t ready to receive. “While the akuma raged about the city blasting open various buildings, some people took to looting the abandoned shops. And unfortunately, the miraculous cure only fixes damage from magic sources.” She paused and looked away, and of all the expressions he had yet to see on Queen Bee’s face, that look of shame and sorrow was certainly not one he had been itching to discover any time soon. “I haven’t seen your shop since I found you unconscious over there, so I don’t know, but… There’s a good chance some of your supplies and artwork are missing.”

And sure enough, when the super heroine dropped him off back at his studio, he found himself greeted by perfectly positioned empty easels and clean, organized drawers full of nothing.


	5. In the Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still smut.

“We’re going to be laaate,” Nathaniel warned in a flirty tone as she _finally_ stepped out of the bathroom, long blonde hair now falling completely dry around her shoulders. She strutted past him over to the closet, holding up a perfectly manicured middle finger as she went, but he was too distracted by the way her silk black robe fluttered around her thighs to notice. From where he sat at the edge of the bed, he caught a perfect glimpse of the freshly shaved skin and shapely butt hidden underneath.

“A queen is never late,” she said, paging through her various dresses, “everyone else is simply early.”

“Do I need to remind you that you are not _actually_ royalty?” A smirk on his lips and his interest piqued, he sauntered over behind her. He placed one hand on her hip and used the other to push her hair aside to dot kisses along the back of her neck.

A sound like a chuckle mixed with a groan escaped her lungs and she leaned into him. “I am to anyone who knows what’s good for them.”

He hummed into the next kiss, knowing the vibrations trickling down her spine would make her shiver. “That’s certainly true,” he whispered. His left hand moved from her shoulder to caress her breast while his right traveled further south.

“Watch where those hands are going, _Monsieur Kurtzberg,”_ she warned, though her playful tone was more than enough encouragement to keep going.

“Oh, I’m very aware of where they’re going, _Madame Kurtzberg.”_

Her breath hitched as his right hand dipped below the robe, fingers grazing sensitive skin. “Weren’t you the one complaining that we’re going to be late?” Despite her words, the woman’s voice came out more like a whine and her head rolled to the side, opening up her neck for more of his kisses.

“Yeah but,” he turned her around then so she was facing him, enclosing his left arm around her waist while his right hand stayed between her legs, “then I saw you.”

Those bright blue eyes connected with his and the small spark between them ignited in full. A vibrant blush spread from cheek to cheek on her flawless skin, even adding a small glow to her nose. Her lips were bare of any makeup, boasting their natural pink hue and looking absolutely soft and perfect. And the half-lidded expression she wore as his fingers found her clit— _“Ah!”—_ absolutely intoxicating.

Her hands settled on his shoulders, using him to stay standing as he pleasured her. Her breathing was quickly becoming more erratic the more she watched him with needy eyes. He kept his gaze on her all the while, drinking in the sight of her ecstasy—from the way her mouth hung slightly open to the rise and fall of her breast.

One shoulder of her robe fell, exposing perfect, smooth skin and he leaned in to brush soft kisses against it.

When he teased her entrance, the woman whimpered and stood up on her toes, bending her knees the slightest bit to grant him easier access. He took the opportunity to lean forward so she was helpless in his hold, his arm around her waist and her grip on his shoulders the only things holding her up. Then he made sure he was watching that gorgeous face as he pushed two fingers in.

A deep-seated groan emerged from her chest and her eyes fluttered closed, brows pinching together and head rolling back in bliss. She dragged her bottom lip between her teeth as he began a steady rhythm pumping her.

 _“Ffffffffuck,”_ she moaned. She picked up her head again and drew in close. “We are _definitely_ going to be late.”

Their tongues connected before their lips did, too impatient and urgently needing the contact to wait. Her kiss was an absolute dream, but it was even better when it was interrupted by her gasps of pleasure. She broke from his mouth in a particularly loud moan and he took to her neck, intent on giving her a few marks she would have to cover up with makeup later. Something to remind her of this feeling every time she looked in the mirror for the next week or so.

“N-Nath!” she cried. “I’m gonna— _ah!”_

The hickey on her neck was a deep enough shade of red, he decided. He tore away to look into her eyes—he most definitely didn’t want to miss this.

“Come for me,” he urged. “Come for me—,” she tensed up, “— _Chloé.”_

Nathaniel’s eyes popped open, his heart racing and body screaming as if from a nightmare in which he had just _died._ He lay in his bed, blood rushing through his ears as he tried to catch his breath.

“Oh no,” he said. “Noooooooooo no no no no no no no no—,”

“—no no no no no no no no—,” Nathaniel thumped his head against the tile wall of his shower ten minutes later with every _no_ but he still couldn’t knock out the image of a breathless, mid-orgasm _Chloé Bourgeois._

AKA, his former school bully.

AKA, the woman he was seeing for a _business_ meeting in _less than an hour_ to discuss a **_very important commission._**

“—no no no no no no no no no no no no no NO,” he practically screamed the word as he turned off the cold water that had done _nothing_ to cool his mind.

Frequent sex dreams about Queen Bee were already a problem, but to have them of _Chloé Bourgeois—_ or Chloé _Kurtzberg_ as she was apparently his _WIFE_ in the dream!???—when he needed to maintain a professional _working_ relationship with her was at least ten times worse! What the hell was wrong with him!?!?

* * *

_No no no no no no no no no no no no no…_

Nathaniel sat at a small table outside the café sipping at an iced coffee that _still_ wasn’t cooling him off. Having rushed out of bed, hurried through his shower, and practically run to their meeting place, he had ended up ten minutes early with his dream still _vividly_ playing through his mind’s eye.

_…no no no no no no no no no no no…_

He knew it was her approaching from behind by the distinctive click of her heels. Not many people were brave enough to wear stilettos that sharp out for a walk around town, but for Chloé Bourgeois, it only made sense. He stood and turned to greet her with a—

_—no no no no no NO NO NO—_

Her hair was down. _Fuck,_ her hair was _down_ and _long_ and a perfect golden waterfall down around her shoulders. It was like her hair was too good for tangles or something! What the hell even was that?? His hair only reached his shoulders but it knotted up within minutes of him brushing it! Yet here she was with _impossibly perfect_ smooth blonde hair and it wasn’t even up in that business ponytail that he got a headache just looking at because it was pulled so tight, _no_ it was _down_ and fell all the way down to her bare waist— _WAIT her WHAT NOW!?_

_—NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO—_

C-Crop top! Chloé Bourgeois was not wearing the business suit he was used to seeing her in, she was wearing a _crop top_ and _skinny jeans_ and a long yellow shawl and she looked so _normal_ it fucking _killed him._

He guessed it _was_ Saturday, but shit, he was _not_ expecting this and _of all days—_

Nathaniel held out a shaky hand. “H-Hi Chloé.”

She waved him off as she stalked past to take her seat at the other side of the table. “I told you last time, you really don’t have to shake my hand every time, Kurtzberg.” She snagged the arm of some poor server—not even the server already assigned to their table—who was in the process of taking dirty dishes back into the café. “Mango iced tea in a to-go cup.”

Okay. In just the first two seconds of being here, her behavior was already enough to make him stop—

She took a seat and pushed the sunglasses from her face up onto her head, gorgeous blue eyes falling on him and practically _glowing_ in the sunlight.

_—bright blue eyes connected with his and the small spark between them ignited—No no no no no no no no no!_

“Let’s talk commissions.”

He nodded and tried to take a sip of his coffee without his shaking hands spilling it everywhere.

“How are you with oil pastels?”

“Good. I can show you some pictures of previous works on my phone if you—,”

“That won’t be necessary. I’d like to commission an oil pastel of Notre Dame at dusk.”

He nodded. “I can definitely do that. Do you have a time that you want it by?”

That same server appeared then and placed Chloé’s drink on the table. Her voice was shaking as she asked, “A-Anything else, Madame?”

Chloé didn’t even look at her as she held up enough euros to cover the drink and a generous tip. “No thank you.” The server took the money and walked away confused.

Chloé closed her eyes as she took a sip, then hummed contentedly and seemed to finally settle down into her seat.

_—a groan escaped her lungs and she—No no no no no no no no!_

“I don’t have a date in mind,” she continued, setting down the drink. He tried not to focus on her glossy lips as she spoke. “But the sooner the better. How is the portrait of Queen Bee coming along?”

The portrait that’s been driving him crazy with _even more_ sex dreams about the super heroine for two weeks? “Good so far. Here.” He pulled out his phone to pull up work-in-progress pictures. The portrait was a full body action pose that Chloé had asked for less than a day after he’d lost everything. He hadn’t told her, but that initial payment was his saving grace.

She hummed again as she swiped through the photos. “Good good. And the floral painting?” The second commission she’d given him roughly a week later depicting a nature scene with, quote, _just a lot of flowers._ He reached across the table to swipe to the next set of pictures. That one was taking a lot longer since he was taking the time to flesh out each individual flower, but he thought the hard work was showing. “I see you didn’t skimp on the flowers.”

Dread washed through him. “Sorry, did I go overboard? I wasn’t sure since—,”

“No,” she interrupted, not bothering to look up from the phone. She was zooming in on the picture to inspect individual aspects of it. “This is what I wanted.”

He still sat there with his shoulders hunched nervously sipping at his drink while she continued to scrutinize his work. He swore he could do seventeen thousand commissions for her and he would never know if she actually liked his work with how unreadable her expression was every time she saw it.

He still didn’t know why she was giving him so many commissions in the first place. Had she really just liked his work from the heroes banquet enough to suddenly start commissioning him on a weekly basis? She even paid him rather generously. Sure, she obviously had plenty of money to spare, but to pour so much of it into his work?

Did she even remember who he was? That she hated him in lycée?

Maybe if this trend continued for a while he’d ask, but for the time being, he was just trying to get back on his feet after the massive hit his studio had taken and was in no position to question the money being thrown at him.

“So the Notre Dame piece,” she continued, sliding his phone across the table. As she spoke, she fished through her purse for an envelope that she then placed on the table between them. “I’m going with our usual commission price, and a little extra up front because I want you to make sure you get the details just right. Do _not_ —,” she fixed him with an icy blue gaze that skewered right through him, “—rely on pictures for this. Go to Notre Dame and get the details in person. Clear?”

That’s what he would have done anyway and he felt a little bad that she was paying extra for his normal process, but he nodded his understanding, not wanting to challenge her direction in any way. “Good,” she said, and then promptly stood, fixing her sunglasses over her eyes again. “That’s all I wanted to go over today. Meet me here same time next week.” Then she took her iced tea and walked away without another word.

Jeez, even the way she walked away was sexy.

_NO._


End file.
